


Poolside Manner (or, The Importance of Following Workplace Health and Safety)

by PinkPenguinParade



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale is Patient (Good Omens), Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is a terrible patient, Fever, Hurt/Comfort, I Don't Even Know, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Canon, Sick Character, Sickfic, ancient bathing suits, gratuitous use of frilly drinks, light comedy, mostly comfort, somewhat gratuitous snuggling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:14:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26827942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkPenguinParade/pseuds/PinkPenguinParade
Summary: He hadn't actuallyexpectedCrowley to sleep for 3 days, but it was hardly unprecedented. And there was plenty to do in his bookshop, what with all the new inventory from Adam that needed sorting through and with the shop itself having been somewhat neglected for eleven years as well. And besides, he knew that Crowley was in the habit of taking the occasional kip that might last for days. So he didn't actually think anything of it until he smelled something burning."Crowley?" he called automatically, thinking that the demon might have awakened. He wandered towards the back room. "Is that you?"It was, indeed. But he hadn't done napping yet--he was still lying on the couch, yes, but where he had been relaxed he was now pale and shivering.And the blanket was just catching flame.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 55
Kudos: 217





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as always to the incomparable LastSaskatchewanPirate and GeiaStGermaine for encouragement, roving betas, and allowing me to drop random fic bits into texts to them at all hours; and amazing thanks to the lovely VerdantVulpus for beta services and catching quite a few additional STT artifacts for me! (And thanks to Geia and Vulpus for the title; both suggestions were great and I liked them better together than either one separately). As always, any mistakes are mine, not theirs.
> 
> Fic is finished, part two will be out, y'know, as soon as I get line editing done. Y'all know I haven't got the patience to make you wait too long. :D

He hadn’t thought anything of it, really. Not until Crowley set the blanket on fire.

They'd gone back to the bookshop after a lovely dinner at the Ritz, had talked long into the night. Aziraphale had inspected everything, running his fingers along the volumes and murmuring lovingly to his shop until Crowley started making kissy noises at him and drawled, “Do you two need some time alone?”

The wine cellar, small as it was, had apparently also been restored. They’d almost certainly had too much in their elation at, if not being free of Heaven and Hell, at least having had the opportunity to each tell their respective sides to go jump in a lake.  
  
Time flowed and their conversation eventually flagged, settling to the occasional giggle and repeated refrain of "rubber ducks!" which had become inexplicably hilarious as they sank deeper into their cups. Crowley eventually subsided into a boneless, exhausted slumber on the backroom couch. Aziraphale pulled a blanket across his sleeping demon and sobered up just enough to be able to pull out a favorite book and read for a while.

He hadn't actually _expected_ Crowley to sleep for 3 days, but it was hardly unprecedented. And there was plenty to do in his bookshop, what with all the new inventory from Adam that needed sorting through and with the shop itself having been somewhat neglected for eleven years as well. And besides, he knew that Crowley was in the habit of taking the occasional kip that might last for days. So he didn't actually think anything of it until he smelled something burning.

"Crowley?" he called automatically, thinking that the demon might have awakened. He wandered towards the back room. "Is that you?"

It was, indeed. But he hadn't done napping yet--he was lying on the couch, yes, but where he had been relaxed he was now pale and shivering.

And the blanket was just catching flame. 

"Crowley!" Aziraphale dashed forward and grabbed the blanket, pulling it to the floor and stomping out the fire. He coughed at the smell of burning wool. "Well, that blanket's done for," he said as he checked on his friend.

Crowley was, well, burning up--hot to the touch and smoking. And he still wasn't waking up.

The couch beneath him, however, was beginning to blacken and char.

"Oh, absolutely not," Aziraphale said, appalled. "No, no, absolutely not. I have had this couch for 132 years and you are not setting it on fire."

Crowley didn't say anything.

"I don't know what's wrong, my dear. But I will not let you burn down my shop again."

He summoned a wet towel and laid it over Crowley; it steamed and began to catch flame. He summoned ice for Crowley's forehead; it hissed and popped and boiled.

When he took himself closer, however, Crowley leaned towards him like a flower to the sun. And when he leaned closer still, to look closely at Crowley's eyes, the lanky demon threw arms and legs around him and clamped on like a limpet, burrowing his face into Aziraphale's neck quite uncomfortably until Aziraphale wrested off the designer sunglasses.

Well, that was... Hmmm. There were definitely some things to think about, there.

The one thing he was absolutely sure of, though, is that if left alone someone was going to set his book shop on fire again, and he was not going to have that.

Well, two things. As he summoned more water to put out the flames licking his couch, he was also quite certain that this amount of steam couldn't possibly be good for his books.

***

Crowley dreamed of cold. Of trying to keep himself warm and continually failing. Of knowing that warmth was there, somewhere, and being unable to reach it.

He woke to a confusing blend of sensations--gentle splashes and the clink of ice and the feeling of steam. He was wrapped around something warm, and something cool was wrapped around him.

He pried his eyes open with some difficulty. Not much help there; his vision was filled with navy and white stripes. Or possibly white with navy stripes? Either way, he suspected an angel had a hand in it. 

"Zzirf'l?" he said. Not a bad try, anyway. "'ngl?"

The stripes--and his pillow, as it happened--moved. "Oh, my dear boy, you're awake! You are awake, aren't you? This isn't another dream you're having?"

"M'wake," he said. He tried to lift up to look Aziraphale in the face and nothing happened. "Wh'happen?"

"I was hoping you could tell me, dear."

"Why can't I move?"

"Oh, you can't? Dreadfully sorry. Here." He was moved, manhandled, lifted like it was bloody _nothing--_ the navy-and-white stripes resolved themselves into a full-body bathing suit circa really fucking long ago, worn by a curly-haired bastard of an angel.

He found himself resettled, draped across Aziraphale relatively comfortably with his head resting on the angel's shoulder such that he could make reasonable eye contact.

He was _draped across his angel._

And he'd been, been _snuggled_ up to him before, too, and he'd _missed it._

He really had no idea what was going on, but he was about to start hyperventilating.

"And how are you feeling, my dear?"

Confused. And overheated. And also cold. And, now that he was thinking about it, really not very good at all. "Eugh," he said in summation, and decided to bite the bullet. "Angel?" he said patiently. "Why’m I snuggled up to you?"

"I'm dreadfully sorry, dear. Only you, um, didn't want to let go. I consulted with Anathema, and she thought that since you are a demon and therefore probably couldn't die of a fever, it might be best to give you what you wanted."

"And I wanted... to snuggle you?"

"You did mutter something about 'warm' at one point."

He remembered vaguely, in the way of fever dreams, being cold and unable to get warm. (Until he found just the right rock to curl up on, actually, one that was warm and soft and felt like sunshine.)

That... was a thought that perhaps he shouldn't examine too closely just now.

"S’why're you wearing, and I really don't want to use this phrase, a bathing suit?"

"Well I was hardly going to climb into the pool in my good kit, was I? I've had it forever and this would just _ruin_ it." 

The... pool. He was going to regret this, he knew he was going to regret it, but he was able to shift himself just enough to look at something that wasn't Aziraphale.

They were settled in an inflatable kiddie pool. It was full of water that was quite warm, if a little less warm than his angel. Steam rolled gently up from the surface.

And the pool itself was in the middle of his flat. The plant room, to be precise.

"What? Ah! No, you'll spoil them!"

"Oh, my dear Crowley, I could hardly spoil them. They're so beautiful, aren't they? I'm sure you take excellent care of them! And they do seem to be enjoying the extra humidity!"

The plants looked at him smugly. A couple of them had _relaxed._

"You didn't tell them they were nice, right? You wouldn't do that to me, you didn't go talking to my plants!"

"Oh, but I had to tell them how lovely they were! And you were hardly a great conversationalist. I didn't know demons could even have fevers like that."

Great. His angel was ridiculous and his plants were rebelling--they were all going to have to die. He'd never get them back under control after they'd seen him this way. Maybe this was Hell, and they'd never made it out of the trials after all--

Waaaait.....

"Aziraphale," he said calmly. "I need you to tell me exactly what happened and how long it's been."

"We were having a lovely night of it. We went to the Ritz and it was just wonderful! And then we went back to the bookshop for a nightcap, and you fell asleep."

He nodded. So far, so normal, _so_ not involving a kiddie pool in my flat, he thought.

"I must say, darling, I'm quite relieved to hear you sounding like your old self."

"Yeah, well, I still feel like shit. And none of what you said explains how we got from the back room of the shop to an inflatable pool in my flat _in front of my plants,"_ he said testily. He was beginning to have an idea of where this was going, and he really wasn't looking forward to it.

"Well you slept for a few days, and I really thought you must have just been jolly tired. I'm sure you had been through quite a lot!"

Tired, check. Still not explaining the bathing suit.

"And that's really when the fever started. I was able to miracle out the char marks on my couch, but my favorite blanket will never be the same," he went on, with a more pointed note in his voice.

"But the shop is still standing, right?" Crowley cut in. Watching it burn once had been enough of a nightmare for 60 lifetimes. He couldn't stand the thought that _he_ might have burned it down.

"Oh, yes! I doused you with water before it could get very bad."

Crowley felt as though his wits were as waterlogged as the rest of him, but a certain picture was taking shape.

"...water. Right. And that's why the pool?"

"Oh, yes! Anathema concurred--said that even if you were steaming it off, water was probably the best way to keep you reasonably cool."

"Which you needed to do because of the fever," he said slowly.

"Well you were setting fire to things, dear."

Yep. Combined with the way he still felt, a picture was definitely taking shape. "Yyyyyeah. Aziraphale," he said.

"Yes, my dear?"

"When you were in Hell... did you lick the walls?" 

There was silence. It was a distinctly guilty one.

"Did you lick the walls when you were in Hell _in my body?"_

"Um... yes?"

He managed to prop himself up on one arm so he could give the angel a proper stink eye. "Why would you do that? There are signs everywhere specifically telling you not to do that!"

Aziraphale's guilt broke into aggrieved patience. "I was _being you!"_

"What's that got to do with it?"

"You always ignore the signs! You nearly got discorporated seventeen times when pedestrian crossing signals came in because no little red man was going to tell you what to do!"

Crowley's arm gave out. He wasn't sure whether it was because his corporation was still messed up, or just because he couldn't believe what was going on, but he let himself slump bonelessly.

It was probably an accident that this now had him resting comfortably on his angel's belly. 

Probably.

He sighed theatrically. And if there was a certain note of aggressive contentment in it, well... okay, Aziraphale probably knew him well enough to pick it out.

"Okay, angel," he said. "Thing one, do not lick the walls in Hell. If you ever want to lick the walls in Hell, remember this conversation and _do not lick the walls in Hell."_

"Um, yes, dear. Will you be quite alright?"

"Thing two," Crowley went on. "It's been, what, nearly a week? Yeah. We're probably in for more of this. Never let Book Girl know that the kiddie pool was a good idea."

"Oh good, it was?" Aziraphale said with a little wiggle.

"Don't get cocky, angel. Nobody expected any of this to happen on Earth. I've only seen anyone go through it in Hell, and you can't actually set fire to anything else in Hell. Keeping me doused is probably the only way not to burn the whole place down. Book Girl never gets to know, but she was right."

Aziraphale "Hmmm"ed. Crowley tried not to think about the interesting way it made his belly pillow move. No matter how much he liked it, he was in no position to do anything about it just at the moment.

Besides, the world was going fuzzy at the edges again, which probably meant he didn't have a whole lot of lucid time.

"Thing three," he said, and he could feel the shape of his words starting to slip. "There’s a good chance that I’ll revert to sssnake before this is done. You juss volunteered to be my basking rock."

"Oh, really? That sounds lovely!"

It did? No, no time for that. The world was definitely fuzzing around the edges. "...hope you ordered in, 'cause this is going to go... on... f'rawhile...."

Everything faded into darkness.

***

Aziraphale poked and prodded at Crowley's cellular telephone. He hadn't yet been able to make it call anyone, but it had so far given him 14 different cocktail recipes as well as a very soothing video in which young woman with a very comforting voice talked about book restoration--simple techniques, of course, suitable for beginners, but competently carried out with soft music and calm narration.

This led him to more very soothing videos, and then more after that. All seemingly without requiring any input from him whatsoever, which was lovely because he wasn't actually sure how to give any.

It did not, however, get him closer to speaking with Anathema. And Crowley possessed a landline--he was sure he did. But as he was currently very wedged under his demon, he couldn't really just get up and check.

The umpteenth very soothing video had just begun, and Crowley was showing no signs of moving anytime soon. 

Aziraphale sighed. He had promised to call Anathema back, and yet all his attempts to make Crowley's mobile do what he asked of it only ended in it, quite frankly, doing what he _wanted,_ instead.

"Oh, very well," he said finally, and miracled Crowley's desk phone next to the pool. He'd neglected to arrange for a longer cord, but it worked just the same.

Anathema answered blearily. "Aziraphale?"

"Yes, dear, it is! How did you know?

"I saw it in a mystic vision," Anathema said.

"Really? How extraordinary!"

"A mystic vision of the caller ID on my phone," she went on. "Technically it says you're Crowley, but I knew it had to be you because you wouldn't have gotten as far as letting him call without keeping me updated, _right?"_

"Oh! Oh, yes, quite! Dreadfully sorry, it took me a while to find Crowley's mobile intelligent telephone and make it do what I wanted it to do."

"And then you gave up and called me on the landline," she said. "At two in the morning."

"Oh, I say. You _are_ getting good at this!"

"Caller ID," she reminded him. "Also Earth’s resident angel and demon are the only people who aren't afraid of being cursed if they call up a witch in the middle of the night."

"Dreadfully sorry," he said again. “You should go back to bed and I'll--"

"Aziraphale _tell me what you called to tell me!"_ she said all in one breath.

"Ah. Yes. Crowley woke up!" he said, and sat beaming.

There was the distinct air of someone waiting for the other shoe to drop, and then Anathema’s voice saying, “....good?”

"And then he didn't," Aziraphale said. "Er. This one may be a teensy bit my fault."

Another, more ominous pause from the other end of the line, followed by the words, "What did you do?" 

"I--" he started, and then had additional thoughts about the wisdom of explaining their recent switch-a-roo on an open phone line. Or even on a closed phone line, given that it was Heaven and Hell they were talking about. "You know I sometimes encouraged his more chaotic tendencies," he said instead. "Well, it seems acting outrageously in Hell might have some teensy consequences."

"Did he explain further?" Anathema said after there had been silence for a long moment.  
  
"Only a bit. It won't be very pleasant for him, I'm afraid, but it should pass eventually. Oh!" he went on, "and I am absolutely not to tell you that this inflatable bath you suggested was a marvellous idea!"

"It's a kiddie pool," she said tiredly. Then, more cautious: "Did he say, tell her I told you not to say this? Or did he just say, don't tell her this?"

"Oh. Right. I'm afraid I found too many cocktail recipes and wanted to try them out. Perhaps it's best to forget I ever said that."

"Unless I want him to cover my walkway in rare coins, he'll never hear it from me."

Aziraphale wiggled happily in the pool and arranged for some more water to fill it. Crowley really had steamed off quite a bit.

"Aziraphale? Is that all you needed to tell me?"

"I, I think so? Some of those cocktails really were quite lovely."

"Yeah, I'm going to sleep now. Call me if anything changes, or if you need us to come down to London for anything. But it's two in the morning and I'm going to sleep."

"Sleep well, my dear girl," he said, and sent a little blessing down the phone line to make sure that it happened.

"Yeah, thanks. Hey, when Crowley wakes up?"

"Yes?"

He could hear the grin through the phone line when she answered. "Tell him he's a saint."

***


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was draped around Aziraphale’s shoulder now, his body curling off down shoulder and belly and into the cool pool water, but his head rested nicely near the angel's ear.
> 
> “And how are you feeling, my dear?” Aziraphale shifted, reaching off to the side for a glass that clinked enticingly.
> 
> “Better, I should think,” he said, and lazily flicked his tongue out to taste the air. Whatever was in the glass tasted interestingly fruity and distinctly alcoholic. He slithered around farther, angling for a chance to get close to it.

Aziraphale eventually found a rhythm. There wasn't a vast amount to do, stuck in Crowley's flat. But he did learn more and more about Crowley's mobile (although he never did get it to make phone calls).

He discovered 'applications' which would allow him to order food to the flat. Many of them seemed to be set up for payment already, so he used those first and had the food left outside the door. Miracled food never tasted quite as good, but simply miracling it from outside the door to next to his pool didn't seem to affect the flavor.

He was somewhat afraid that he might end up owing Crowley a substantial sum after this, but he had also been told quite clearly that he was to be the demon's pillow. And it _was_ rather his fault that Crowley was going through this in the first place, so he set himself to endure.

At least enduring was a great deal easier with an interesting and innovative set of cocktail recipes at his fingertips. Miracled cocktails didn't taste quite as good either, but by the second or third one he didn't really care.

In the meantime, well... He had spent thousands of years wanting the chance to cuddle with the lanky demon. He could wish for better circumstances, of course, but he also remembered a phrase about gift horses, mouths, and not asking too closely.

***

Sometimes Crowley was a snake.

Aziraphale could never entirely tell when this was going to be. He would simply be reading carefully and one moment he would be held down by a humanoid redhead, the next he would be deeply entangled in red and black snake. He didn't mind either one, of course. He had thought Crowley's snake form handsome since Eden, he was hardly going to stop now.

Occasionally though--usually when he had just replenished the pool with cold water--he did wonder whether Crowley was actually a constrictor.

***

The world was very slow to return.

Crowley wasn't entirely certain how long it usually took - he’d never before had to personally deal with this particular malady. Contrary to everything his Angel apparently believed, he did actually care about hygiene and rules. Well, some rules. Well, hygiene, anyway.

(Some rules were there for a reason. For instance, no matter how much people might write songs about the quirky girl who breaks all the rules and wears roller skates to bed, Crowley knew that once you've been accidentally kicked by a roller skate, you do tend to take care that doesn't ever happen again.)

The first thing he was aware of, again, was heat beneath him and cool around him. There was hot all under his belly, and he seemed to have more of that than he was truly expecting.

His perch trembled. "Oh, that tickles!" said a voice

He knew that voice. He knew it very well. "Sssssiraphale," he said.

“Oh! Crowley!” There was splashing, and a great deal of movement, and then he was being picked up bodily and resettled. 

Oh, he thought, as the room swam into focus. That explains quite a bit.

He was draped around Aziraphale’s shoulder now, his body curling off down shoulder and belly and into the cool pool water, but his head rested nicely near the angel's ear.

“And how are you feeling, my dear?” Aziraphale shifted, reaching off to the side for a glass that clinked enticingly.

“Better, I should think,” he said, and lazily flicked his tongue out to taste the air. Whatever was in the glass tasted interestingly fruity and distinctly alcoholic. He slithered around farther, angling for a chance to get close to it.

Aziraphale pulled it away. “Not unless I know you're doing better this time,” he said. “I dare say it's not good for you if you're still shrugging off the effects of, of _that.”_

“Aw, c’mon, angel, I'm awake and everything aren't I? Give us a tassste.”

“That's what you said the last three times, right before you fell back over. No alcohol for you until you've recovered.”

“How’m I supposed to convince you, then?” he said. He did feel much better, but then he'd also woken up as a snake and apparently not for the first time.

“No, I think we should begin with, can you shift into your human form?”

That... was a very good question, actually. He did feel better, although the word ‘refreshed’ would definitely be a bit of a stretch. “And what’ll that prove, then?” he asked, definitely not stalling for time.

“As handsome as you are in scales, my dear, it is just the tiniest bit difficult to accurately gauge whether you're still feverish.”

His tongue flicked out again, not quite coincidentally brushing the edge of the Angel's chin. Aziraphale tasted like sweat and cocktails and sunshine. So he did it again.

“Stop that, it tickles!" 

Crowley grumbled--flicked out his tongue one more time to trace the edge of Aziraphale's ear, but then desisted. He took a breath and held it, concentrating on shifting back to his human shape--

He should possibly have considered the position he was in beforehand, he realized, as his lanky body was now slouched across Aziraphale's shoulders and behind his head in a space where there really wasn't room for him to be.

And, it registered shortly, as he had remanifested without any clothing on.

"Nnrgk," he said, and dove back into snake possibly faster than he ever had ever before.

Aziraphale was muttering, feeling around in the much-disrupted water. He finally came up with the cocktail glass from earlier, still with its sodden pink umbrella but minus all of the interestingly alcoholic content.

Crowley took advantage of the distraction to tuck his head under his coils, mortified. He wasn't even entirely sure why he was mortified-- it's not as though he'd ever given a rat's knackers whether humans saw his corporation. But this wasn't just a random human, this was _Aziraphale._ A being who had dug out a hundred-year-old bathing suit to cover him entirely in order to take care of a sick friend.

Aziraphale, meanwhile, stared into his empty glass for a moment. He took a breath--the kind that usually preceded fussing at someone--then let it out in a giant whuff.

"I was enjoying that drink," he muttered, then louder, "Well at least we know you can change back. It doesn't seem to have really stuck, though. Can you do it again?"

Crowley peeked his head out of his coils just long enough to say "no" very definitively.

Another sigh. The Angel's body moved interestingly underneath him when he sighed. "Well. I suppose we're in for another round, then. My dear boy, if you’ll be lucid for a few minutes, do you think I might get up and dry off for a bit? Apparently angelic corporations can also get pruney."

Crowley considered. Letting Aziraphale out of the pool would give him a moment to clear his head, maybe allow him to try going back human in a way that might also allow him to _put on clothing._ And if he couldn't handle that much of a miracle, well, he at least wouldn't be naked on top of the angel when he found out.

On the other hand... his angel was very soft, and very warm, and very very comfortable. There was definitely a temptation to stay wound around him.

On the third hand, though, which he had no compunctions about utilizing because he currently had no hands at all so all hands were theoretical anyway, Aziraphale had been sitting here with him, wet and bored (and, he suspected, somewhat inebriated) for days now at least, and possibly deserved a break.

Somewhat annoyed with himself, he tightened his body briefly around Aziraphale before slithering off him and along the edge of the pool. "Go ahead, angel."

"Thank you, my dear. I shan't be long, but the old corporation isn't as resilient as it used to be." He stood in stages, water pouring off him from that ridiculous bathing suit. "And by all means, if you do feel yourself getting warm again, slither into the water? This portable bath is lovely, but it is filled with air and, I suspect, not entirely fireproof."

Crowley mostly felt as though his strength was coming back, actually. It was a nice change from how he'd felt the last time he woke up. Or at least the last time he remembered waking up, if Aziraphale could be believed.

And really, he had no doubt that Aziraphale could be believed, he thought as he watched the angel climb out of the pool and reach for a stack of fluffy towels that he was almost certain had not been there a few seconds ago. His angel--he might have questioned whether he could call him _his,_ but if he’d just spent days lying on him he felt maybe it was all right--his angel might be fussy and prim, was definitely inclined toward repression and denial, but if he said he'd spent days being Crowley's basking rock, he'd spent days being Crowley's basking rock.

Additionally, if for some reason the angel was lying to him and it hadn't been days, then there was no reason for the sounds Aziraphale was making as he toweled himself off. It was clearly something that was bringing him a certain amount of pleasure and satisfaction.

He waited until there was a towel drying cloud-like curls, solidly blocking line of sight, before he tried shifting back to human again.

What he really should have done, and did not think of until entirely too late, was get _off_ the inflatable side of the pool before turning into something that weighed an additional several stone.

Human again: check. Arranged to manifest wearing shorts: check.

Turned into a human while supported by not enough air to support a human, partially collapsing the wall of the pool and letting water flood out: check.

Let out a deeply embarrassing yelp of surprise as his support went away and he was briefly covered with water: also check.

"Crowley!"

A strong hand caught his flailing one, and he found himself almost bodily lifted for the second time that day. His angel was strong, so strong, and he didn't even really get to appreciate it because he was still spluttering away a face full of water.

"Are you all right, my dear? You could have waited, I would have been back in a moment!"

It took him a moment to get his feet under him, and even then he couldn't quite let go of Aziraphale's hand--his hips and legs never worked really well at the best of times and he clearly had been quite ill for a while. But he wasn't falling over, even if he was a bit wobbly. 

He turned to look at the extent of the damage from the water, and was briefly glad he'd never put carpets in the place. A snap of the fingers should--

Drop him directly on his arse, he realized, as he found himself suddenly sitting on soaking concrete.

Attempted to miracle flat clean, passed out briefly: check.

"Crowley, dearest, you must stop. Give yourself a little time!" There was a snap by his ear, and the water from the floor vanished. Also the water from his shorts--he was now sitting clean and dry on the floor of his flat.

"If you could just snap yourself dry, why bother with the towels?" he found himself saying, as though that was the most important question of them all.

An extremely fluffy towel was draped around his shoulders. He wasn't even still wet, and it was quite nice. He surreptitiously tugged it tighter around him.

"Because fluffy towels are one of the great advancements of humanity," Aziraphale said. "Whereas it would be a great deal more work to clean that much water off of the floor than I currently want to deal with."

That was... Yeah, okay, that was fair. Crowley was out of power, wasn't even entirely certain whether he owned a mop, and if Aziraphale wanted to make his life easier he was manifestly too worn out to complain about it.

Part of him wanted to grump about it being the angel's fault he was here to begin with. But then again, he reminded himself, he had gotten to spend nearly a week basking on his angel.

It was just frustrating not to properly remember it all.

He was still sitting on the floor being mad about that when suddenly there was a warm hand on his forehead. "Nnnghk," said Crowley.

"Hmm," Aziraphale said. "It does seem as though your fever has broken. Although I suppose we won't know until you start to get your strength back."

Aziraphale was touching his forehead. Aziraphale was _touching his forehead,_ and just _kept_ touching his forehead. Of his own free will, apparently.

It didn't make sense that this should feel so momentous. Just moments earlier he had been physically draped over the angel. When he’d first woken enough to figure out what was going on, he'd been physically draped over the angel _in his human form,_ even. This was so much less contact, and yet it felt very very important.

"Hnngh," said Crowley.

"Do you think perhaps you could stand up?" Aziraphale asked, and then apparently felt clarification was necessary and added, _"Without_ trying to miracle anything?"

"Yeah. Prolly best," Crowley said.

"Could you try now?" Aziraphale said, when no movement was forthcoming.

Crowley tried very hard to think of a way to calmly and rationally point out, _your hand is still on my forehead and I don't want to move in case I break the spell,_ without sounding as though he was feverish again.

No, no good. He couldn't think of a single thing that didn't sound somewhat delirious.

He finally managed to phrase it as a simple request. "Give me a hand up?"

"Oh! Oh, of course, silly me!” Aziraphale removed his hand from Crowley's forehead, and just as quickly took his hand and lifted him bodily to his feet. _Again._

“You,” Crowley said, a little disoriented, “you're very strong, aren't you?”

“Hmm? Oh, I suppose I am. So how are you feeling? Steady on your feet?”

Crowley considered. He wasn't entirely certain ‘steady’ was the appropriate term, but he didn't feel like he was going to fall over immediately again, so there was that. “Think so,” he said. “How long has it been?”

“Since the end of the world? About two weeks.”

“That's, that's a long time. Especially for you to sit in a kiddie pool with me.”

“Oh, perhaps, but it does seem to have been my fault, after all. I'm dreadfully sorry to have put you through it.”

"No harm, angel." He swayed unsteadily, with appropriate comic timing. "Or at least probably no lasting harm. I think I might want... food? And a nap. Definitely a nap, a proper nap. A _dry_ nap."

"Oh." Aziraphale sounded crestfallen. "I can arrange food, if you tell me what you'd like. I found some local places on your smart telephone."

"Just call it a mobile, angel. Wait a second, you were playing with my phone?"

"Oh, I was happy to be there with you, Crowley, of course I was. But really there was very little to do."

"You. Learned to use my mobile. You used apps. _You._ The angel that technology forgot."

"I was _hungry,_ Crowley. And I never did figure out how to make it make telephone calls. Although your Words With Friends score is going to be higher than you remember and someone named FileLord666 is no longer talking to you, I'm very sorry."

"Why didn't you just miracle up a book?" He started swaying again, and Aziraphale caught him and lifted him over to the stylish uncomfortable couch.

"I was in a pool, dearest. Very nearly a sauna, with as much as you were steaming. It would have been very bad for my books, especially if I had dropped one."

Crowley started to miracle his uncomfortable stylish couch into a comfortable stylish couch and found his hand covered by the angel's before he could finish the snap. "Not now. Didn't we just show why this was a bad idea? Tell me what you want done--"

"Couch could be more comfortable," he admitted. "I didn't buy it for comfort. If I want a comfortable couch I go to yours."

"Of course, dear." Aziraphale snapped and Crowley's couch found itself much more comfortable. Also much less stylish, but his head was rather swimming with everything and he just decided he would arrange for stylish again later.

"Besides, my mobile wouldn't like the water, either," he said.

"You are forever talking about how it's waterproof!"

"Waterproof for a mobile doesn't actually mean water _proof,_ Angel, it's a term that you know never mind. It's fine." He was still reeling and he definitely felt like there were pieces he was missing in all of this. Not just the week and a half either. "Order any food you want, I don't have an app set up for anything I don't like," he said, and collapsed back into the cushions. 

They were soft. A couple of them were suspiciously plaid. He closed his eyes and pretended not to notice.

He was almost too tired to even remember that he was still in his pants and that Aziraphale continued to wear a bathing suit from the dawn of time. (Almost, but not quite. He nearly tried to summon up some better clothes, but the memory of the room dissolving around him was still quite fresh.)

The angel punched a few buttons and spent a moment muttering to himself over the mobile, then set it down with a smile. "All right, dearest, food should be on its way shortly." He disappeared for a moment into the kitchen and carried a tall glass with him when he returned.

Crowley perked up, remembering the fruity concoction he hadn't gotten to try. If they were breaking out the drinks already, the night was looking better. "What's that?"

"Water, love. Drink it all."

"What about the fruity thing you had earlier?" he said, looking dubiously at the glass that had been shoved into his hand.

"Drink," Aziraphale repeated, really quite sternly. "You've been feverish for days and I don't even know how your corporation works with that--a human wouldn't have survived such a fever--so drink."

He drank. It was very refreshing, actually, although he didn't want to tell the angel that. "So what you're saying is that you don't know what to do, so I have to drink water to appease you," he said, looking at the last third of the glass before finishing it off.

He'd expected Aziraphale to get flustered. He was disappointed. "Yes, actually. The combination of high temperature and humidity made you sweat, and your corporation will need to be replenished." Plump fingers gestured and the glass refilled itself. "I want--I need you to be better."

"You don't have to worry so much. I don't really blame you, you know. I know you didn't do it on purpose."

"No. I mean, yes, I do feel a bit bad for having put you through this. But that's not why I want you to be better, Crowley." Aziraphale sat heavily next to him on the couch. "I want you better... because I need you _back."_

Crowley sputtered mid-sip. "You need me what?"

"Oh, you were right here, but you were gone, too. Either asleep or half delirious, and I was lonely without you. It's quite the longest time I've been without talking to you for, what, nearly eleven years?"

"You... _missed_ me?"

The blue eyes went wide. "Of _course_ I missed you! You're clever and funny and my best friend and if I ever made you feel otherwise I... Well. Of course I did, but I was _wrong,_ scared into being stupid and cruel and what if something happened to you before I could tell you I'm sorry?"

"You missed me," Crowley said again.

Those heaven-blue eyes were entirely too wide and clear and focused on him. "I did. Yes." 

He was so tired, and he clearly wasn't quite up to speed yet. He couldn't seem to focus on anything else. "You missed me while I was using you as my actual personal pillow."

"Very much," Aziraphale said quietly. "I enjoyed looking up cocktail recipes on your telephone, but it wasn't nearly so much fun as sharing them with you."

He thought back, trying to feel his way along this train of thought. "And you looked, you looked _sad_ when I said I wanted a nap?"

He was watching closely this time, so he didn't miss the flash of disappointment and almost panic before it was buried under concern and an angelic willingness to do what was best.

"Oh, but you should have a nap, I'm sure it's the best thing for you! After something to eat, of course."

Crowley watched. He was almost sure, now.

"And I shall," Aziraphale went on, letting the words get ahead of him like he did, "I shall go back to my shop, so you can rest in peace now that you're feeling--now you're feeling so much better!"

"Angel?"

"Yes, dearest?"

"Did you want to stay awhile longer?"

"Oh, I'm sure I shouldn't intrude..." Aziraphale said, but his face and his tone of voice begged to be convinced.

Crowley was starting finally to be able to narrow down what had been bothering him. He really _had_ been sick, he thought briefly, to allow himself to become so oblivious to such an invitation to temptation. "Aziraphale," he said.

“Yes, dearest."

"Would you stay awhile longer?"

There was a tiny hesitation, a brief eye-flick Heavenward that he was fairly certain Aziraphale didn't even know he'd done, but it was all alright. He knew this game. Convince the angel to do something he wants to do? He'd been playing this game for millennia now. This was his _favorite_ game.

"I do think I've turned a corner," he said. "I’m feeling better. But you know how it is, could relapse any second." He extended a trembling arm and let it fall back into the cushions surrounding him in a way that could have been entirely too theatrical, but Aziraphale was a long-time lover of panto and Crowley was a long-time champion at 'convince the angel.' "Probably best if I'm not on my own," he went on weakly. He considered for a moment adding a dramatic, nay consumptive cough, but thought that might be overselling it.

Aziraphale watched him for a long moment--long enough to make him think maybe he’d actually misread the entire situation--and then burst into laughter.

“Oh, my dearest, we _are_ a pair, aren’t we?” 

“What?” Crowley started, thrown by the sudden shift--this wasn’t the usual way the game went at all. He should have had at least one, probably two more rounds of ‘no I couldn’t’ and ‘oh, go on, really, you’d be doing me a favor’ before they got to ‘well all right’. This wasn’t anywhere on the script. 

And then the rest of it snapped into focus, and his body fought for breath it didn’t technically need. “Wait, WHAT? Did you just call me ‘dearest’? When did you start calling me ‘dearest’?”

“Oh, Crowley, love, I’ve sat here with you for more than a week and I missed you so much, and I swore to myself that once you woke up I’d talk to you properly and I still nearly funked out again.”

Now it was ‘love.’ Crowley definitely felt he was having trouble catching up.

“I would like to stay, dear, I really would. I find that while I miss my books, the thought of going off without you, well… it’s simply not something I’m interested in doing. Perhaps ever again.”

Once, a few years ago, Warlock had come to Nanny Ashtoreth in tears, holding the phone his parents had gotten him. Something had happened--he’d dropped it, or managed to miraculously press the wrong sequence of buttons, or it had simply tired of being knocked about in the pocket of a 7-year-old, but it had frozen on the display screen and flatly refused to do anything else. Even a discreet demonic miracle had only worked _after_ she’d also taken out the battery.

He felt a sudden, absurdly clear kinship with that phone just now. “Buh?” he managed. 

“Oh. I mean… unless I’ve misread… all of this.” Aziraphale’s face did the _thing,_ the thing that happened when his angel wasn’t _happy._ “I thought--or maybe I merely hoped--you felt the same. If you truly wish some time alone, I will of course go--”

The thing, the _thing,_ it broke through his bluescreen moment because all he wanted was to make it stop. “Wait!” 

Aziraphale waited. 

“...yes?” he said eventually, when it became clear that ‘wait’ was the only word Crowley was going to be able to blurt out right now.

“Not go,” Crowley said, and realized what had come out of his mouth. “Nnnght. I mean. Don’t. Go.”

Aziraphale stared at him for three full heartbeats and then reached over and laid a hand on his forehead again. “Although possibly you’re feverish again? Hmm, no…”

Aziraphale did not withdraw his hand. 

“Ngtth. Like.” Crowley said, because any brain he’d gotten back was being short-circuited by that warm hand on his forehead _caring_ for him. 

Demons didn’t, as a rule, have people caring for them. He’d never, before this last few weeks, had this experience.

His linguistic abilities were not up to it. He’d been tired and shocky when he first woke up, and covering for it like he would have in Hell, but this wasn’t Hell, this was _Aziraphale._ Aziraphale, who didn’t judge him (or, okay, did, but not like Hell did, just the occasional gentle disappointment or nnngggh, not remembering the fight at the end of the world right now, okay? The important thing was that _as a rule_ Aziraphale didn’t judge him based on whether he was evil enough, or whether he was strong enough, or whether he showed weakness or kindness or… okay, he _did_ judge him based on showing kindness but his judgement was always in favor and sometimes he’d say things about it that Crowley didn’t know how to react to and he suspected he did it on purpose and--)

Aziraphale started to pull back his hand. 

His body reacted without actually waiting for his brain, this time, and he surged forward with both his arms and one leg wrapping themselves around the angel. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale yelped. 

“Pffftaaamph,” Crowley said, into his faceful of soft angel and ancient bathing suit. 

“...Dearest?” Aziraphale said, with the tiniest hesitation. “I, I _think_ I might have understood that one? But it may be best to be clear, just now.”

Crowley lifted his face, against every instinct he had. “Stay,” he said clearly. 

“Of course, love, if you’d like me to.” Warm, strong arms came up around him and settled against his back, hands rubbing down his skin in smooth, steady sweeps. He still didn’t know how to handle it, the, the _tenderness_ there, couldn’t fathom being worthy of it, but he didn’t want it to stop, either.

“Forever,” he managed.

The chest under his cheek rumbled in laughter. “Of course,” Aziraphale said.

“And, and--” This was important, he needed to do this, he could _finally_ do this, but it was still hard to get the words out. “Thank you.”

“For what, love?”

“Staying. Being here. Taking care of me.” He thought a moment, wondering if he might have spoken without this, how long it would have taken him, and added, “Being brave.”

“It was awfully difficult, being brave,” Aziraphale said. “I might require hugs.”

“If I were a constrictor you’d already be in real trouble,” Crowley said, and oh look, now he’d gotten past the _hard_ part his language had started to work again. He thought about grimacing, but it might take away from the feeling of the angel in his arms. 

The food chose this moment to arrive with a strident knock on the door, because sometimes ‘the devil’s own luck’ makes its own rules. Crowley reluctantly unwound himself and allowed Aziraphale to stand.

The resulting pad thai was the best thing Crowley had ever eaten, which probably said more about how depleted he was than about the absolute quality of the takeaway. Well, and also about the experience of eating it tucked up against Aziraphale’s side, a thing he’d often dreamt of but never quite dared do. 

They spoke more easily, now. Aziraphale was finally sufficiently convinced of his returned health that he was willing to trade out the outdated bathing suit for his more normal kit, and Crowley snuck off to his room and came back in soft trousers and a tee (he’d considered his skinny jeans and decided nobody was going to see him right now but his angel, who was actually _his,_ confirmed and everything, and he didn’t want to waste his returning mojo on the necessary miracle right now anyway).

It was almost perfect. 

Almost, because nearly at the end of his pad thai Aziraphale sat bolt upright with a cry of “Anathema!”

Crowley fell off the couch in startlement. “What?”

“I didn’t call Anathema! Oh, and I promised to when you woke up, she’s been so helpful--”

“Jeez, angel.” Crowley picked himself up off the floor. “Call her now. She’ll be fine.”

“I _promised,_ though, oh, she was right!”

“Right about what?” A quick brush-down and back onto the couch for close cuddles, that was the ticket, and he wasn’t going to let a phone call ruin it. 

“Oh, when she...Oh.” Aziraphale said, the last word sounding very small. “Nevermind, it’s not important.”

“Angel,” Crowley said. “What was she right about?”

“Well, when I spoke to her before… she gave me a message for you, about dealing with me.”

“Okay, what was the message?”

“She said I was to tell you… that you’re a saint.”

“You get Book Girl on the phone right now and tell her to _take that back!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for sticking with me, y'all. It's crazy and scary out there, stay safe and be well!

**Author's Note:**

> IDEK what's up with my brain lately, y'all, I get a nice fun prompt for Az falling in love first and really plumb some depths of angst (that one's in beta, I swear it should be out soon) but I decide to write a sickfic and apparently the first thing that comes to mind is 'make it a little funny!' so I hope that lands.
> 
> Thanks, y'all! Kudos always welcome, comments make me happy and I'm terrible about replying (not least because my backlog is currently big enough to make it an Impossible Task and so it's hard to start) but I swear every one is read and treasured and an occasion for reactions from big smiles to warm fuzzies to running circles around my house waving my hands in the air. Knock-on art is always welcome, just let me know so I can share; and I hope you enjoyed this bit of brain flotsam!


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